


Where The Heart Is

by deathishauntedbyhumans



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Kissing, Legally Blonde References, M/M, Post-Canon, Sappy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, big gay monologuing, no beta we die like men, shoutout to pez tbh he's a real one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22285402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathishauntedbyhumans/pseuds/deathishauntedbyhumans
Summary: Moving into the brownstone in Brooklyn doesn't happen overnight, but that doesn't mean that the new house —theirnew house— isn't a home.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 30
Kudos: 254





	Where The Heart Is

**Author's Note:**

> you have no idea how glad i was that this fandom already has works, mostly because i don't have to figure out how to tag henry's whole godforsaken name
> 
> also happy 2020 (i had 2019 written here oh my god thanks for not calling me on it y’all) i can't believe the first thing i've successfully written is 2k for a small-ish fandom (actually i'm lying this is pretty on brand for me)

Law school is harder than _Legally Blonde_ wants anyone to believe, but Alex has never been a man to back down from a challenge. 

June makes him watch it with her the week he gets accepted to NYU, and he ropes Henry and Bea and Nora and Pez into it too with a website that lets them all watch it together at the same time on their own screens. It’s not the same as having them all in the room with him, but somehow the secondhand embarrassment of Elle making a fool of herself is easier to bear with Henry complaining about Warner’s assholery through the tinny speaker of Alex’s phone. 

And then, he makes the move to New York, into the beautiful brownstone house Henry picked out in Brooklyn. Henry isn’t living there full-time, not yet, so Alex joins the clutter of a partially-moved-in living space with boxes upon boxes of his own chaos. Even half-packed, the house feels like just as much of a home as his house in back Texas. 

He knows it’s because of the promise of _Henry_ in every unpacked, neatly labelled box he stumbles over when he gets up to pee in the middle of the night. It’s the promise of _Henry_ in the cupboards full of coffee and cinnamon and sweets, of the promise of _Henry_ in the freezer packed with Jaffa Cakes that he’s been warned not to consume all of, lest he face the wrath of Prince Charming himself. 

The promise of Henry is enough to make the house a home, because for the first time since the beginning of their relationship, they finally have a chance to wake up in the same fucking time zone and to see each other in the early morning hours, to laugh and kiss and _talk_ without the threat of missing anything more important than Alex’s lectures or Henry’s appearances at the Brooklyn branch of his charity. 

So it’s even _better_ whenever the _promise_ of Henry turns into the real thing. 

Alex slips through the doorway and kicks off his shoes, absently locking the door behind him. It’s only two, but he’s had four classes since he’d woken himself up at the asscrack of dawn to go for a run, and he’s starting to feel the effects of his morning caffeine completely exiting his system. He’s got essays to work on, research to do, and—

The lights in the kitchen are on. 

The kitchen is located towards the back of the house, through the living room and hallway. There’s a sliding glass door that opens into their backyard— and he’s using the term loosely, because he’s used to Texas and wide-open-spaces and California and the sprawling lawns of the White House— but Alex tends to keep the curtain drawn when he’s not home out of habit and paranoia more than anything else. He’s certain he’d closed them that morning before he’d left for class, and the light coming down the hall is artificial and yellow-orange, not bright white like sunshine. 

Alex stops in his tracks and glances around slowly. Nothing seems disturbed, and even though he hadn’t been looking when he’d come inside, the door had seemed fine. He’s highly doubtful someone could have forced their way inside. 

He tries to force himself to take a breath, to relax. It’s probably nothing. He probably left the light on when he left the house in the morning. It's not a big deal. 

Something makes a gentle _thunk_ in the direction of the kitchen, like the refrigerator door shutting, and Alex reaches on instinct for the taser Nora bought for him as a going-away present. 

“Alex?” An achingly-familiar, accented voice calls. Alex knows his eyes go wide, and it’s a deer-in-the-headlights look of shock that Henry catches a moment later when he pokes his head through the doorway at the end of the hall with a Jaffa Cake in hand. A grin splits his face. “I thought I heard you come in.”

Alex is in motion before he realises he’s moving, pitching forward and rushing Henry from halfway down the hall. “You scared the hell outta me,” he says into shoulder, just barely avoiding tackling him. As it is, he can feel Henry stumble a little, his hands flailing for a second before settling around him tightly. “I thought someone was here.”

“Oh, and I’m no one?” Henry teases. Cool, slightly-sticky fingers press gently against Alex’s jaw, and Alex tilts his face up so that Henry can kiss him. 

Alex grins into the kiss and sucks Henry’s lower lip into his mouth, drawing a noise of pleased surprise from Henry’s throat before he pulls away. “Yep,” he says, as casually as he can while also drinking in the sight of Henry’s beautiful, perfect face like a man dying of thirst. He kisses him again, satisfaction blooming in his chest when this time, it’s Henry who smiles into it. “What are you doing here, sweetheart? I thought you and Pez were doing charity stuff in Japan for another week?”

Henry chuckles breathily, reaching up with one hand to idly brush his fingers against the nape of Alex’s neck. Alex does his absolute best not to melt into the touch. “He really does have things covered, there. He told me to, quote, ‘get your ass back to New York where it belongs before I kick it there,’ so…” He shrugs helplessly, and Alex laughs and makes a mental note to text Pez a thank-you later. “Here I am.”

“Here you are,” Alex agrees. Henry drops the hand on his neck to grab at something on the counter beside them, and comes back with the Jaffa Cake that he must have set there in his rush to return Alex’s embrace, which he now takes a bite out of two inches away from Alex’s face. Alex snorts and kisses the side of his mouth fondly before tugging himself out of the embrace to pull off his jacket. It’s not quite spring yet, which means it’s not snowing in Brooklyn anymore, but it’s still colder than a witch’s tit outside. “How many of those have you eaten?” he asks curiously. 

Henry has the absolute audacity to look unashamed as he points to an empty package on the counter. “I had to do something while I waited for you to get home.”

Alex walks by with his coat, partially to go hang it in the closet but _mostly_ because he wants to squeeze Henry’s ass and steal a bite of his cake. Henry makes an indignant noise; whether it’s at the stealing or the fact that Alex is copping a feel, he isn’t sure, but it pulls a smirk out of him regardless 

“You could’ve unpacked some more of your shit,” he offers, coat successfully hangered. When he comes back into the kitchen, Henry has perched himself on the counter, and he’s licking his fingers clean. “That probably would’ve been more productive than wolfing down what’s probably the USA’s only actual store of Jaffa Cakes.” Without waiting for an answer, he walks over and slots himself in between Henry’s legs, and Henry tightens them around his sides, holding him there. 

“I much prefer hearing you complain about it, actually,” Henry shoots back, his eyes sparkling. He leans in, but he doesn’t kiss him. Instead, he rests his forehead against Alex’s and closes his eyes. “ _Christ,_ I’ve missed you,” he adds in a murmur. 

Alex threads his fingers through Henry’s hair. “I’ve missed you, too,” he tells him softly. And this moment, this right here? This is theirs. They might still be dealing with the fallout of their International Sex Scandal™ and picking up their lives outside of each other, but this? This was just the two of them. The entire world feels like it narrows down to a point, to the feeling of Henry’s breath ghosting over his lips and the softness of Henry’s hair and the warmth of his forehead. This is _theirs._ It’s the two of them, in a house of their own, coming together like they have since the very first night that Henry kissed him in the snow. It’s _home._

“You’re my home,” Alex says out loud, because he doesn’t think he’s ever really said it before. He’s said other things, other ridiculous, sappy things, he’s told Henry he loves him too many times for him to ever begin to count, but he’s never told him _this._ And that needs to change, right the fuck now, because Alex is never done with telling Henry how much he means to him. 

Henry opens his eyes, and even pressed as close as they are, Alex can read a question in him. So he elaborates and rambles, because that’s what he _always_ does when he tries to tell Henry how special he is anywhere but on paper. “This house is really… It’s so pretty, baby, but it’s not the reason I moved here, y’know? I love having a place to come back to and sleep every night, don’t get me wrong, and it’s pretty cool to not have to share close quarters with any turkeys.” That startles a laugh out of Henry, and Alex is smiling when he continues. “But it’s not _home._ You… You’re my home. The reason I love it here is because I know I’ll get to see you at the end of the day. Or… the week, or couple weeks right now, but eventually…” He waves one of his hands in the air near Henry’s head, trying to wave off the semantics and find the words he needs at the same time. “I know that eventually, it’s going to be you and me, here, every day. And _that’s_ what makes it home. It’s you. _You_ make this home, because... you’re my home.” He pulls his chain from beneath his shirt, where his Texas key and Henry’s signet ring still clink together, side-by-side. “Two homes,” he says, holding them up towards Henry. They’re not leaning against each other’s foreheads anymore, but Henry is still holding him hostage between his legs and watching him with rapt attention. “Two homes, right here. Where I came from—“ He holds the key reverently, and then the ring. “And where I’ll always want to be.”

With a jolt of surprise, Alex realises that there are tears running down Henry’s face. Some of his horror must show in his own expression, because Henry gives a watery half-laugh and shakes his head even as he tilts his cheek into Alex’s hand when he goes to wipe the tears away. 

“You,” Henry says wetly, shakily. “—are the absolute _worst,_ most utterly _romantic_ man that I have ever met.” He accentuates his oxymoronic statement by twisting his fingers in the front of Alex’s button-down shirt and dragging him in for a bruising kiss. It’s messy and hot, openmouthed and wet, the latter for more than one reason. 

“I’m sorry?” Alex pants when they’ve broken apart for air. Henry leans against his forehead again and slides his thumb along Alex’s collarbone. 

“I love you,” Henry replies. “I love you so much that it _hurts._ Do you know that?”

 _Oh,_ Alex realises somewhat dumbly. _He’s crying because he’s happy._

“I love you just as much,” Alex replies. “So, yeah. Definitely. I definitely know that.”

“Wanker,” Henry mutters at him, and then they’re kissing again, and Alex eventually pulls Henry off the counter so he can push him against it instead and crowd him in as close as he can possibly get. Henry makes quiet noises against his mouth, muffles himself in Alex’s hair when Alex kisses along his jaw and mouths at his stubble —and fuck, has Alex mentioned how much he loves the stubble? Has he mentioned how much he loves Henry?— and Alex loses himself in it. 

Outside, the world continues to turn. In DC, his mom is probably in a meeting or signing paperwork. Nora is probably still in class. June is at a book signing that she’d talked his ear off about yesterday. But inside their house, with Henry in his arms and Henry’s arms around him, Alex lets himself forget that anyone else exists outside of the home that they’re building —the home that they’ve _built—_ for themselves. 

(The curtains on the sliding glass door stay closed until dawn the next morning.)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a stinky american boy and had to google what a jaffa cake was i'm so sorry
> 
> Kudos/comments are love! Come scream at me on tumblr @deathishauntedbyhumans!


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